


The Lost and Distant Shore

by MayaReidBarnes1917



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Forgive Me, I Made Myself Cry, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm sorry Steve, M/M, One Shot, Sad, Song fic, poor steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 22:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5944888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayaReidBarnes1917/pseuds/MayaReidBarnes1917
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For as long as he could remember, he'd always had Bucky at his side. He was a presence of calm and steady courage for Steve. There would be stories told of the brilliant duo and their bravery on the battlefield, as well as their good-natured humor and pranks that were shared between them and their comrades. If one was near, the other wasn't ever far behind. Steve knew all of this, could replay a memory in his head and see it before his eyes as if it were happening just then. Like it had been another life. Steve knew that kid from Brooklyn lay in a snowy grave just off the side of that mountain, below the tracks. He had died on that train with Bucky. When the brunet with the blue-grey eyes and a smile to blind and a laugh to melt even the coldest of hearts slipped between Steve's fingers and plunged to a freezing fate of death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lost and Distant Shore

**Author's Note:**

> This song fic was inspired by Red's "Hymn for the Missing." I do not own this song, all rights go to the proper owners.

_Tried to walk together,_

_but the night was growing dark._

_Thought you were beside me,_

_but I reached and you were gone._

 

For as long as he could remember, he'd always had Bucky at his side. He was a presence of calm and steady courage for Steve. Anyone who knew them could tell of their bond and inseparability that made their lives so tightly bound together. There would be stories told of the brilliant duo and their bravery on the battlefield, as well as their good-natured humor and pranks that were shared between them and their comrades. If one was near, the other wasn't ever far behind. The two boys, barely men, were so fiercely protective of and loyal to each other that they were a force to be reckoned with.

 

Steve knew all of this, could replay a memory in his head and see it before his eyes as if it were happening just then. But no matter how many times he relived them, there was always a sense of unrealness. Like it had been another life, and Steve guessed, it was of sorts. Though he had somehow, by a cruel trick of nature, lived to see this new century, Steve knew that kid from Brooklyn lay in a snowy grave just off the side of that mountain, below the tracks. He had died on that train with Bucky. When the brunet with the blue-grey eyes and a smile to blind and a laugh to melt even the coldest of hearts slipped between Steve's fingers and plunged to a freezing fate of death. Bucky had always been so gentle, so kind and loving, always forgiving. He didn't deserve an end so vicious. His life ripped brutally from him in the stark, barren and lifeless snows of those mountains.

 

Steve ached from the loss of his lifelong companion. He wished once more for one last glimpse of Bucky's face. He wanted to be able to see Bucky's smile when he closed his eyes. Instead, all he could see was the look of panic and terror, but also steely determination on Bucky's face as he clung to the side of the train. he had refused to let the fates take him from Steve easily. For all his devoted love for Steve, however, it just wasn't enough.

 

_Sometimes I hear you calling,_

_from some lost and distant shore._

_I hear you crying softly,_

_for the way it was before._

 

Every night, and new nightmare plagued him. Some were of Bucky's death, of Bucky's capture and torture, and Steve isn't there fast enough. They are full of violence and fear and pain and loss. The terrors of the war and the aftermath. Through it all, the comfort of Bucky's touch eludes him. No sounds of his voice, except screams that fill the air through explosions and gunfire, reach Steve's ears. Bucky is in pain, suffering, screaming for Steve, but there is nothing he can do but watch, as his heart shatters from the torment of being so helpless.

 

Less often, but infinitely more painful, are the dreams of Brooklyn before the war. Back when he was his old self. Back when Bucky was always there, constant and loving. A rock in a dangerous sea of sickness and worry. But none of his illnesses bothered him. Steve would trade all of the effects of the serum to be with Bucky one more day. To hear him call Steve a punk and respond with a playful 'jerk.' He would give anything to snuggle up in their small, shared bed and hold Bucky one last time, to be held by Bucky's strong and sure arms.

 

To talk about their wishes for the future as Bucky ran his fingers through Steve's blond hair. To sit in the silence that needed no filling except for the quiet scratch of Steve's pencil as he sketched Bucky, who was sprawled across the bed or sitting in the window sill, the sunlight igniting his form and making his eyes shine. He wanted one more touch, one more smile, one more laugh, one more kiss. All gone now, long gone and washed away, leaving only longing and pain in its wake.

 

_You took it with you when you left,_

_these scars are just a trace._

_Now it wanders lost and wounded,_

_this heart that I misplaced._

 

Empty. There was no other word for it. Living in this metal-hardened age without Bucky by his side made him feel empty. After a while the sadness turned numbing, like it had gotten to a point where his mind had to do something to protect himself from pain, and decided to turn off his ability to feel it. Why couldn't it have been him? Steve should have died on that train instead. He didn't deserve to live while Bucky didn't. Bucky should have gone home to Brooklyn, safe, and maybe one day, happy. Even if it wasn't the happiness he'd shared with Steve. The second chance should've been his.

 

There was a hollowness where Steve's heart used to be. His view on this century, this future, was bitter and jaded. He didn't want to be here, alone. But as always, he soldiered on, fighting the new wars that never seemed to stop. Steve had a team, not unlike the Howling Commandos in personality, but it was a far cry from what things used to be. Sometimes he would forget, lose himself in battle and slip up, say something normally reserved for Bucky and the Commandos. Always, Steve would pass it off as a joke and pretend it never happened. But it never failed to shock him back to the present moments after, also shocking him with the remembrance of all that he'd lost.

 

_Where are you now?_

_Are you lost?_

_Will I find you again?_

_Are you alone?_

_Are you afraid?_

_Are you searching for me?_

 

The fight on the bridge had come like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head, sending him shivering and shaking to the core. Everything he knew, or thought he knew, had been turned upside down and inside out. Not only was Bucky, Steve's beloved, alive, but he was standing mere feet from him. Steve had been so surprised that he couldn't do much more than stutter out a small cry of Bucky's name. He cursed himself for it later. Then there was the Helicarrier. Bucky had come at him, raging, ignoring Steve's pleas for him to stop, for him to remember. The inside of Bucky's head seemed almost as empty as Steve felt. To anyone else it wouldn't be much more than the programming and missions and torture that Hydra had shoved in there.

 

But Steve wasn't just anyone; He refused to believe that Bucky was gone. He refused to give up on him, like all the times Bucky had persevered to pull him through his worst fevers. There had to be something left in that broken and scarred shell. Steve knew Bucky had saved him from the crashing Helicarrier. But then he had disappeared and Steve wondered if maybe Bucky had just been the ghost of a reflection. He worried himself sick every day, hoping against hope that Bucky would figure out the things he needed to and return to Steve. Now that he knew Bucky was out there, Steve itched to find him, to help him, to make sure he wasn't alone and scared and lost and searching.

 

He wanted to be there for him, but he had no idea where Bucky went, and he sure as hell wasn't being found. It consumed Steve, his worry for the man he loved who barely knew his own name, let alone Steve's. The thought made Steve feel sick to the point of almost throwing up. All he wanted was to find him and bring him back to where he could be safe and cared for. No one needed more love right now than Bucky.

 

_Why did you go?_

_I had to stay._

_Now I'm reaching for you._

_Will you wait?_

 

Why. The one question that haunted Steve's mind. _Why._ Bucky had to have a reason to leave. Sure, Steve could understand that he was more than a little fucked up right now, and that Bucky had never been the best at emotions, especially his own. He could see why Bucky wanted to be away from from anything that might trigger memories that were confusing or terrifying, and Steve was a damn big trigger. Steve just wished for the safe return of Bucky, whoever he was now, memories or no. Bucky would never be the same person he was, but knowing things from his past might help him piece whatever person he was now, back together. Hydra had taken everything from Steve, even Bucky. But they took more from the brunet than Steve could imagine. They ripped him out of his own head and took control of his body. Steve vowed that he would never leave Bucky to fend for himself ever again.

 

"I will find you, Buck. I promise." He whispered to himself.

 

_Will I see you again?_


End file.
